Foundations
by Sinhe
Summary: Events take a turn for worse, and the pasts and presents have caught up with the Newsies. SLASH, main characters: Dutchy, Specs, Spot, Jack. 33104: Completed! Took me long enough!
1. Take a Turn for the Worse

Disclaimer: I do not own the movie Newsies, or the characters that I am toying with in this story…it would be a lot of fun for me if I did though…:: sighs wistfully::

Notes: wow! My first real fanfic! (Collaborative fiction not counted).  I am "widening my horizons"… so to speak. There is torture abound for the main characters of this fic. (One of the perks of writing fanfiction is that you CAN torture fave characters.) I have a feeling I should give warnings ::points:: : rape, slash (Dutchy/Specs; Jack/Spot sorta-ish), language (not censored), non-explicit sex, tons of angst from various characters, death/gore, abuse in the present or referred to in the past, severe bull-headedness, dumbass decisions from most of the main characters and a possibly faulty spellchecker. I'm sure more will come up. I am not counting on this fic being very happy, although it looks like at least some of people will get a happy ending. There may even be some fluff. If I'm lucky. Oh! I almost forgot! Dreams = -blah-, which should be helpful…Now: 

Read! (If you haven't clicked the "back" button yet) 

Enjoy! (If at all possible) 

Review! (Give the grateful authoress feedback, even if it is only to say that her writing sucks).   

On with the fic! 

Foundations

Chapter One: Take a turn for the worse

Dutchy, almost finished selling his papers, was looking forward to getting out of the awful rain and having a warm drink in the lodging house. Hearing the pattering of feet falling into rhythm behind him, he looked over his shoulder to see a face with sharp eyes staring at him and a grinning mouth that smirked suggestively. His breath hitched in his throat and he sped up silently, weaving through the crowd, trying to shake the man from his trail. The footsteps behind his picked up speed as well, and he could tell they were getting closer. He began to run and turned down the nearest alley, no longer paying attention to where he was going, just trying to get away. The raindrops trickled down the lenses on his glasses, his fair hair pushed in his eyes. 

A cold hand clamped around his thin wrist. 

He felt the matching hand find its way to the back of his neck and his head being pulled towards his captors. A mouth fastened itself to his lips, bruising them, and fingernails dug into his wrist and neck. He struggled, trying to wriggle his way out of the iron grip that held him. His captor's tongue forced its way past his lips, and into the warm cavern of his mouth. Dutchy's eyes widened, tears beginning to form in the corners of his eyes. He squeezed them shut as the stubble on the man's jaw scratched his face, surely leaving red welts in their path. He finally stopped struggling as he was pushed roughly to the ground, his glasses jarred off as his head hit the ground. His waist was straddled by the man, and his shirt pushed over his head. He whimpered softly, the tears making their slow way down his cheeks.

***

Specs sat cross legged on his bunk, his chin propped on one hand. It was late in the evening, Dutchy had still not returned to the boarding house, and Specs was worried. Turning to Jack he told him softly "Ehy, Jack. Ise gonna go look fer Dutchy, k?" 

Jack replied looking slightly worried, "If youse don't come back inna hour or so, wese all gonna look fer 'im. I'ope nothin' 'appened ta 'im." 

Specs nodded and turned to leave, the other newsboys watched him leave but didn't comment. Out on the streets, he began searching logically; going first to the places Dutchy sold his papers. About an hour later Specs came to the end of Dutchy's normal route. He heard a pained groan coming from one of the side alleys close to him. Trotting into it, he looked down the alley and glimpsed the light pink of pale, bare flesh. Warily he walked slowly towards it, but upon seeing blond hair he sped up and ran the rest of the way down the alley. 

Dutchy lay naked in a puddle in the alley, his sopping clothes strewn across the width of the small street. Kneeling next to Dutchy's unconscious form he felt for a pulse, found it, and sighed with relief. Blushing, he replaced the other boy's undergarments, and took off his own damp shirt to clothe the boy with. He picked up Dutchy's glasses that had been thrown aside and wiped them off before replacing them. He then gathered the strewn clothes and held them as he picked up the thin boy, putting an arm under his neck, and the other under his knees. He slowly made his way back to the lodging house, ignoring the odd looks he got from the small number of passerby. 

***

Specs trudged up the lodging house steps, clutching the precious body to his chest. He ignored the gasps of the other newsies as he made his way to Dutchy's bed and laid him gently down on the mattress, hanging his clothes to dry on a nearby window sill. The newsies gathered around him, Kid Blink and Mush directly to his right, Jack, Skittery and Bumlets to his left. They all clamored to know what had happened, the noise level in the room rising dramatically with every passing moment. 

"Ise don' fuckin' know, okay!?" he yelled, startling the rest of the boys into silence; he wasn't known to loose his temper often. "I jus' found 'im lyin' dere in da alley and brought 'im back 'ere." He sighed and collapsed onto his own bed located next to Dutchy's. He ran his fingers through his bangs where the peeked out from under his bowler cap. "Ise don' t'ink he 'as a fever, but ise can' know fer certain. 'E sure's bruised a lot though." It was true, the boy had bruises wringing his wrists and across his cheek, along the back of his neck, and scratches along his legs, thighs and all across the soft planes of his face. Clothed in only his summer undergarments and Specs' shirt, the bruises stood out darkly on his pale skin. The other newsies hung around for a couple more minutes, before retreating to their own beds, Mush, Blink and Skittery throwing worried glances over their shoulders. Jack hung around a little longer, sitting on Specs' bed. 

"T'ink 'e'll be all right?" Specs asked Jack, looking over at him. There was no doubt who they were talking about.

"I dunno, Specs. We oughta tawk ta 'im in da mornin', see if 'e's ok. Maybe pay fer 'is lodgin' fer a coupla days. 'E's only gots bruises an' scrapes, e'll be fine. What 'appened ta him dough?

"I tolds ya, I dunno. Something bad." Specs replied lowering his voice even more.

Jack just nodded his head sadly and stood, walking over to his own bunk. 

"Get some sleep, Specs."

***

            Dutchy groaned in his sleep, sweat beading on his forehead, his face twisted into an expression of pain. Even now, he looked vulnerable in sleep, his face younger than its seventeen years. 

            -_he floated in a dark sea of emptiness, words and images drifted across his mind's eye. _

_"Come and play with me, little boy." Crooned a sly voice softly. _

_He saw himself several years younger, maybe twelve or thirteen, hair tousled and large glasses sliding down his nose. He was being pulled along by a large, thickly veined hand and led into a rundown shed. The image was black and brown with age, the only white in the picture, his light hair and the sunlight that illuminated the window. _

_"…said the spider to the fly…" a woman's voice played out, as if reading a children's story. _

_He was sitting in a well lit room on an old crate, again several years younger, watching intently as an old woman in ragged clothes held out a booklet of paper for him to look at._

_            "If you scream or tell, I swear, I will hunt you down and cut your head off you wicked little bastard." An angry voice hissed in a low tone._

_            He was in a small room, looking into a slightly warped mirror at a large bruise which covered his shoulder and half of his upper chest. Tears trickled softly down his cheeks and he was biting his lip to keep from sobbing out loud. He turned quickly towards the door, hearing a knock and struggled to pull on his shirt before the adult entered. _

_"Did you have fun today, little one?" a sickeningly sweet voice asked insincerely._

_            His hands were clenching the fabric of his shirt, which his head was pillowed on; he stared at the dirt floor he was lying on. He felt the weight of the man on top of him lift, as the body fell to his side. He squeezed his eyes shut as he heard the sickening laughter, and felt the remnants of ecstasy ripple off the older man's body. He felt, rather than saw the other man stand up, dress himself and walk out, leaving the boy to clean himself up and get himself safely home alone.- _

Memories, those he would not tell anyone, not his friends, not the parents he left behind, even those he cherished most would never know, could never know. Dutchy opened his eyes slowly; looking around carefully to make sure none of the boys around him had wakened. He shivered silently, pulling the sheets around him tightly, willing himself not to think. Not about what happened. He stared at the bunk above him, memorizing the knots in the wood, before exhaustion finally overcame him and he fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.   

***

            Waking early, Dutchy at first forgot about the newly cut wounds on his soul. He stretched and yawned, but feeling the tightness of long neglected muscles, he suddenly remembered. He bit back a groan, and stood up carefully, so as not to wake Specs and the other newsies near him. He was mindful of the creaky floorboards as he crept toward the fire escape that was located outside of one of the windows on the floor. He slid open the well oiled window and climbed out into the open air. Taking a deep breath, he tried to calm himself down. '_He's back! How can he be back?! I thought I got away, how did he find me?' Gulping the cool air, he sat abruptly, trying to fight back the stinging in his eyes. It had been four years since he had last seen the man, why did he have to show up now? He had finally begun to get over the horror that had been his life; his fear had just started to ebb. Why couldn't he have waited until Dutchy was strong enough to fight him? Dutchy rubbed the heels of his hands into his eyes, wiping the slight moisture there away. It wouldn't do him any good to break down, and would only alert Jack and his other friends of his distress. He didn't want them to find out. Ever. _

This piece of his life was his shame. Every time he thought about it, he knew that if someone wanted to fuck him, he would not try to stop them. It had been so ingrained, the philosophy that if you fought it was worse, and it was. He had lost count of the times he had come home with a barely concealed bruise because he had squirmed too much or he had whimpered or begun to cry. He had been slowly conditioned to be some madman's fuck-toy. He didn't know how to fight that kind of assault, memories would flash before his eyes, and he would freeze. He let them have their way. 

He had been told over and over that it was his fault that this was happening, that he had angered the older man in some way. He had known deep within himself that this was not true, but being told he was worthless had an effect on how he acted around others. His father had begun to ask if he was feeling ill, or if something had happened during the day. And he would always shake his head no and go back to his small closet of a room and sob silently, his small body shuddering with the grief and uselessness he felt. His shame overwhelmed him, he withdrew into himself loosing the closeness he felt with his family. He didn't want that to happen with the newsies, his almost brothers, but he didn't want or need their pity. Pity didn't get you anywhere. It just made you feel more inadequate. 

But still, he was back. The man who had haunted his dreams for the past four years. It was happening again, and he had no way to fight it. Who cared about the filthy poor boys? No one but the filthy poor boys. He stared blandly over alley to the dirty brick across from him. He slid his hands across the cold metal of the safety railing, his hair and open shirt blowing behind him in the soft breeze. He sighed deeply, pushing his glasses up on his nose with his index finger. Hearing the unmistakable rustle of fabric behind him, he turned his head sharply to look into the window behind him. 

"G'mornin' Specs." he mumbled quietly.

"Well, look who's finally conscious!" Specs quickly retorted.

"I'se guess youse could say dat." He dreaded the question he knew Specs was going to ask him. It was the one thing he tried to evade at all costs.

"What th' hell 'appened yestaday aftanoon, Dutchy?" Specs' face grew serious.

"If ya don't mind, ise would ratha not say." 

"'Ratha not say'?! What th'ell does 'at mean?" Specs looked incredulously at him.

"Don't Ise get th' right ta keeps secrets?"

"Not when it involves bein' unconscious inna puddle, covered wit bruises!" Dutchy shuddered violently, as the memories he had been trying to keep at bay flooded back into his reeling brain. Tears spilled over from his burning eyes, sliding down his pale face. He wiped them away furiously, unable to hold them back. Specs' expression softened, he walked over to Dutchy and put a comforting arm around his shoulders. Specs' eyes widened in surprise as Dutchy turned into his arm and began to sob into his shoulder, wetting the white fabric that covered his arm. Specs looked over his shoulder to make sure none of the others had woken up. Luckily for Dutchy and himself the cloth of his shirt muffled the barrage of tears sufficiently. Specs pulled Dutchy to his chest, hugging him tightly, trying to comfort him as best he could. Eventually the fall of Dutchy's tears began to slow; he sobs becoming quiet and finally turning to sniffles. He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand, the skin of his eyelids feeling congested and puffy. 

"Youse feelin' a little bettah now?" Specs asked sincerely. Dutchy shrugged and nodded slightly. 

"I guess. Thanks." Dutchy said, looking uncomfortable.

"You gonna tell me what's wrong?" 

"No. Not now. Not ever, as far as Ise sees it." Dutchy stood and began to climb back through the window. 

"Youse know if youse ever feels th' need ta vent youse can come ta me, right?" Specs asked solemnly. 

"Yeah, sure." was Dutchy's only answer as he slid the rest of the way through the open window. Specs sighed and looked down to the alley that was below the fire escape. For a split second Specs swore he saw a tall, wiry man just leave the narrow street. He shook his head and stood, making his own way to the window, sliding through and already beginning to forget the smile on the man's face.

***

End Chapter One

Wah!!! I finished a chapter! :: Claps for herself:: I'm so proud! :: Knows that it's kinda pathetic:: I hope all of you that made it this far liked it! I HAVE A FUCKIN' PLOT!!!! :: Dances and cheers:: it's like a first. Ok. I'm done now. 


	2. Run into You

Notes: And here is the start of Chapter 2! ::claps:: I hope ya'll like it! Flashbacks are the same as dreams, -_blah-. This chapter has underage drinking (was there a drinking age at the time?) in it, or whatever. I forgot to say this last time, but it takes place between six months and a year after the Strike. Chapters may not alternate between each plot exactly, but each chapter will be devoted to one of the given pairs (Specs and Dutchy or Jack and Spot). This chapter takes place after the newsies go to sleep, the day of Dutchy's rape in the first chapter; it is after Jack talks with Specs. Sorry about how short this chapter is. Again I hope you enjoy it! Thanks to Carmen (Jesschan, I love you! you are the best!) for her giant amount of help on this chapter. _

Disclaimer: I **_still don't own the Newsies (Any of them. The movie or the boys themselves. Damn.) =P _**

Foundations

Chapter Two: Run into you

            Jack lay on top of his sheets, the heat of the night shimmered in the air. He was curled on his side, his bare feet tucked under him, and he stared off into space. Memories triggered by the dramatic events of the afternoon rushed to meet his tired mind. 

_- Events, each somehow linked inextricably to the other in no rational way. The two circumstances had nothing in common in cause, but both were the catalyst to something bigger. Maybe that is what made them memorable to the warped psyche of one boy._

_"Ehy! Jackie-boy! What's flyin'?" _

_He was in a bar, at his present age, Spot sitting next to him at a polished wood table, they held their mugs up to each other, clinking them roughly, laughing as the beer spilled over the side. His cheeks were flushed with alcohol as he slid his chair closer to Spot's and whispered something in the other boy's ear. Spot's eyes widened in surprise, but he giggled when Jack's beer tinged breath and soft lips brushed against his ear. Spot shivered as his lips slid along Spot's jaw line, leaving a slight trail of saliva behind on Spot's skin. He then stood and went to the doorway, beckoning Spot to follow him to the street outside. After the barest hesitation, Spot stood as well and trotted to catch up him, his steps stumbling drunkenly._

_  "Please, Jack. Please, don't stop..."_

_He was now in some sort of abandoned warehouse, his body on top of Spot's, his mouth fastened to the other's full lips. He slid his hand under Spot's shirt, liking the feel of flesh between his fingers. Spot moaned against his mouth, the words coming out garbled and full of pleasure. _

_"Ugh…Ise thinks Ise gonna…puke." _

_He rolled of Spot's chest and stood shakily, the mixture of beer and semen in his stomach making him nauseous. He stumbled for a couple of yards, across the warehouse, bent over, and proceeded to vomit. Spot stood and walked up behind him, rubbing his shoulders, pushing back his bangs from his sweaty forehead.- _

Jack rolled over in his bed, the memories sitting uneasily in his head. '_It was a mistake, I was drunk, I wasn' thinkin' clearly,' his mind raged at him, coming up with excuses. Sarah had broken up with him earlier that day, which for a strange reason had flooded him with relief. He did not want to know__ what caused his response. He had thought she was the love of his life, and had found out abruptly she was not. Then he had met Spot in the bar by chance and on a drunken whim had kissed him. He had used Spot to clear his memory, to make him forget. He had not seen Spot since then, six weeks ago. At first he had tried to contact Spot, but it seemed he was never there. Jack had given up. He still didn't understand…anything._

Sliding off of his bed, he quietly made his way across the room and down the stairs, leaving the boarding house and stalking down the wet, rain splattered streets. 

He would see Spot now, or never again.

***

Spot stood on the docks outside of the Brooklyn Lodging House. He was smoking a cigarette and thinking, insomnia, disturbing thoughts or something else keeping him awake. The soothing sound of the waves crashing against the old planks usually lulled him to sleep, but he found them only irritating now.  He jerked back to reality as the cigarette he was holding burned down to his finger. Startled, he dropped it into the water and then watched as the orange spark of light went out and he was bathed in darkness. Abruptly, he heard loud footsteps approach his position, and began to turn. Before he made it all the way around, he was tackled by a heavier body. He fell, the back of his head hitting the planks with a dull thud. A voice he recognized, but could not quite place, snarled out of the darkness.

"Youse avoided me fer six weeks; Ise not gonna let youse scampah away. Wese gonna tawk, now." He realized that it was Jack, and tried to seem unaffected. He shrugged slightly, which was no small feat from his afflicted position.

 "Alright Jack. Tawk." Spot answered his voice cold. Some of the tension hovering around Jack dispersed, and he let out a loud breath. He then rolled off Spot and sat cross-legged on the wet wood, running his hands through his hair. Spot reluctantly joined him, lit up a cigarette, flinched when Jack's hands brushed his as he stole it, and lit up another one. Jack ignored the flinch and took a drag on the cigarette, holding the smoke in momentarily before letting it out. He now seemed utterly calm, but Spot knew better.

"Why was youse avoidin' me?" Jack asked quietly.

"Ise don' 'ave sex wit people I knows, so's Ise t'ought I bettah not knows youse." Spot replied, his voice at a deadpan.

"Why not?" 

"Why not what?"

"Y'know, 'ave sex wit people youse knows."

"'Cause I don't." Jack shook his head

"It don't make sense, 'sides, we was drunk."

 "So?"

"So's it don't count, right?" 

"Sex always counts." Spot said seriously, before continuing in a slightly patronizing manner. "Well Jackie-boy, it was nice talkin' to yas, but Ise gotta woik tamarrow." He then stood, stubbed out his cigarette, and began to walk towards the Lodging House.

"This ain't ovah yet Spot. It ain't sorted." He heard Jack call out behind him

"Well, fer now it is." He answered and entered the dark building. 

***

Upon waking the next morning, Spot rolled over and looked up at the ceiling from his top bunk. He sat up and winced as the mattress squeaked in protest. Running a hand through his hair, he pursed his lips in thought. _'It ain't possible I was wrong ta avoid Jack, right?' Spot wondered, slightly confused at Jack's reaction. __'Sure, we was pals, pretty good ones too, but don't he understand my reasons?'  Spot supposed not, considering he hadn't even explained them all that well. '__Ah well, who cares 'bout 'im, e's jus' buggin' me 'cause 'e's not gettin' any.' Spot thought bitterly. '__Don' 'e gets it? You start 'avin' sex wit people youse knows, and deres bound ta be a broken 'eart in store fer one a ya.' Spot was determined not to let that happen to him. Giving your heart to someone gave them power, power Spot was not willing to let go of. '__Aftah all, why wouldja let a goil (or guy, Spot's brain supplied__) have dat much control over yas? Why wouldja want ta?' Spot shuddered involuntarily. Sex was power, in a temporary and purely physical way. Love was power to a higher degree though, and loving someone gave them power over you emotionally and mentally, it gave them access to your soul. Emotional attachment was weakness. Weakness was vulnerability. Vulnerability got you hurt._

If you had sex with someone you loved or had any emotional tie to, it gave them access to all of you, gave them the ability to reach into your soul and drink its essence. This was Spot's worst fear.

'_It ain't nevah gonna happen ta me, nevah evah.' Spot shook his head and hunched his shoulders, his fingers nervously playing with the edge of the sheet covering him. '__Ise won' let it.'_

Clamoring out of bed, he decided to get an early start on the day, the mantra of '_nevah evah' repeating in his head as he strode out down the steps and out of the door. _

***


	3. Suffocated as I Fall

Notes: Here we are, back to Angst!Dutchy. Also featuring Angry!Specs. Oooh, I am so looking forward to this chapter! I hope you all are too! Warnings for this chapter: 'sides the normal ones, attempted suicide! Yay! ::cheers:: Uh. Yeah. Don't mind me. Go read Carmen's fic "Smoke on the Horizon" for more cute newsies slash! (And an adorable Kid Blink!!) 

Thank yous: Carmen (Jesschan! Yay! Thanks for the ideas and feedback!), Fatechan (Molchan! Editing fun!), and Wizesandz (Katchan! Feed my ego!) for all their help and betaing stuff. I love you all! ::glomps all three:: and of course: ALL THE PEOPLE WHO REVIEWED!!!!! ::hug for each of them:: 

Disclaimer: Guess who still doesn't own Newsies! ::raises hand:: Oh! Oh! Me! 

Foundations 

Chapter Three: Suffocated as I Fall

            It was around midday when Dutchy began to get nervous. He had only been out for around two hours, and he had sold most of his papers. He suddenly felt a heated gaze boring into his back, right between his shoulder blades. He squirmed and turned around, trying to find the one that was staring at him, realizing as he did that he didn't want to know. Dutchy gasped as he recognized the sharp fox-like face of the man who had raped him brutally so many times. 

He was grinning, his white teeth and sharpened canines gleaming in the sunlight, his thin lips stretched and pulled taut over his large mouth. You wouldn't say he was a large man, although his height reached the six foot mark, his limbs were too long and gawky looking. He was muscular in a wiry sort of way, and his hair was dark and thick, but too long and dirty. His eyes were the most startling though, a cool grey that never smiled, unless he was causing pain to someone weaker and more vulnerable than he. Jonas Archer. Arch.

Dutchy turned and began running at top speed through the crowd, pushing passerby aside, tripping over fallen debris. As he ran he heard behind him a noise like acid rain, like dirty snow, like ancient peoples fallen to ruin. It made his heart lurch, and his breath die in his lungs. Laughter. Loud, booming, laughter. 

But still he ran.

***

Dutchy ran all the way back to the Lodging House, signed in with shaking hands, and went upstairs. He entered the bathroom, splashed his face with water, and looked at the clock, the hands read one fifteen to the silent room. He was still shivering, the after effect of meeting up with Arch. He stumbled to his bunk, thankful he was on the bottom, and collapsed onto it. His entire body shook; he pulled his knees up to his chest, where they hit against his chin repeatedly, causing him to clench his teeth. '_'E knows where Ise is. 'E knows how ta find me. 'E knows Ise can' fight 'im.'  Wrapping his arms around his shoulders, he hugged himself tightly until the tremors stopped. Then Dutchy sat up on his bed and toed off his shoes. He wound his fingers into his hair, pulling it over his eyes. '__Last time, my las' resort was ta run away, but 'e was determined to fin' me even then, and 'e did. Ise can' do that again, it wouldn' do anythin'. What should Ise do?'  His features took a grim cast. '__Ise nevah gonna let 'im take me back dere, __even if I 'as ta kill myself ta do it!'_

_ Realization dawned on him then, just how easy it would be to escape Arch's grasping talons. All he had to do was rid the world of himself, it's not like anyone would care much, even the other newsies. __'No dreams, no panic attacks, no livin' in fear (no livin' at all, his brain told him.)__ No rape, no repeated violation, no humiliation. No nuttin'.' He had run out of options, he knew that Arch would not lay off him for long. He had no more time, he had to do it now or he wouldn't have the courage to go through with it. No one had ever cared enough; no one had ever tried to find out what had happened, why he was pulling away. Well, with the sole exception of Specs….__'do Ise really wanna do dat ta him? He's done nuttin' but good fer me.' He steeled his nerves, he didn't have a choice. He had to go through with it or deal with Arch. Vaguely he wondered what it would be like to be dead, if there was something after. __'Well, it can' be any worse than this…' Dutchy didn't believe in a higher being, he didn't believe in Angels. __'If dere was Angels, or a god, why would dey condemn me to such a life? It don't make sense. Gods is supposed ta be all forgivin' an' kind, why can' I get any of dat?' He shook his head, his hair flying an all directions, and then stood. He realized he wasn't exactly sure how to kill himself; he couldn't stand blood, so slitting his wrists wasn't an option. Throwing himself off the top of the building would hurt, but wouldn't guarantee death. He figured that his best bet was to hang himself, so he began to look around for a suitable piece of rope. His eyes fell upon Jack's old rope belt, sitting on the small table by Jack's bed. He had stopped using it, but kept it for old time's sake. __'Perfect…' He picked it up and straightened it out and walked back into the bathroom. He found his mind curiously blank, as he tied the rope in a makeshift noose._

 He felt numb, almost as if in a dream, not pain free, but just as if the pain were faraway. There would be no pain soon, he would be in oblivion. He stood on a stool and fastened the long end of the rope to one of the rafters, tugging on it to make sure it was secure. Taking a deep breath he looked around him, at the sunlight streaming in through the windows, at the worn and used bunk beds, at the rusty water tubs and the dirty sinks. This was his home; could he really leave it like this? '_Youse desperate, dis's your way out. There is no udduh way. Youse knows dat.' He nodded to himself in a deciding manner and slipped his head through the loop in the rope, sliding the knot down so that it touched the base of his neck. As he prepared to kick the stool out from under his feet, he looked up for one last glance at his life._

And saw Specs staring at him, wide eyed, in the doorway.

He kicked the stool.

***

'_The headlines is unusually good t'day.' Observed Specs to himself as he sold his last paper. He made his way back to the statue and looked at his pocket watch. It was ten after one, and he was starving. Some of the other boys had finished selling already and were hanging out around the statue. Skittery was talking to Snoddy, Jack was sitting, and looked as if he was deep in thought, and Kid Blink was talking to Mush and Bumlets, his arms around their shoulders. He trotted over to join them._

"Ehy guys! Anyone 'sides me hungry?" 

"Yeah, starvin'," answered Blink loudly, "Ise says we 'ead ovah ta Tibby's an' get some lunch!" Denton paid for them to have a tab there, seeing as they couldn't pay for it on their own. 

"I'll meet you guys dere, I'm gonna 'ead back ta da Lodgin' House. I 'ave ta get somethin'." He had a small stash of money under his mattress that he wanted to get before they all started to play poker.

"Okay, we'll see ya dere den Specs." said Mush, and they turned to leave. The trip back was not long; he got there at maybe one twenty, one twenty five. He trudged up the stairs and he looked over into the bathroom and-

He stopped in his tracks, his eyes widening at what he saw. Dutchy with a rope around his neck, Dutchy was going to _hang himself….He saw the blonde's muscles tense as he readied to kick the stool out from underneath himself. Specs took off at a run; he knew that the snap of the taut rope could break Dutchy's neck. He grabbed at Dutchy's legs, holding his thin body upright, keeping him from hanging. Dutchy tried to struggle out of his grasp, but the rope around his frail neck limited his mobility and the arm around his legs kept him from kicking. Here Specs was in an awkward position, he wanted to reach the small knife in his boot, but he had to be careful, it wouldn't do to fall over. He carefully stood on one foot, bringing his left boot as close to his chest as possible, and pulled out his knife. Reaching up with his left arm he sawed the hanging rope with the blade of the dagger, catching Dutchy's body when it finally broke. For the second time in twenty-four hours, he was holding Dutchy. Easing the blond boy to the floor, he sheathed his blade, kneeled, and sighed deeply. He felt both relief that Dutchy hadn't succeeded, and anger that he had tried it in the first place. He suppressed both emotions and stood up. Dutchy sat up hesitantly, pulled the noose off of his neck, and dropped it on the floor beside him. Specs then picked it up and hurled it across the room, in a surprisingly violent gesture. Dutchy started and looked at Specs, whose eyes had darkened with anger._

 "Youse got no right ta stop me-"

"Ise damn well got da right!" Specs interrupted, his demeanor tense. "How could ya do dat? Ta yourself? Ta da rest of da newsies? Ta me?" His voice softened, becoming serious, and laden with suppressed emotion, "I t'ought Ise was yer frien'" It seemed that the brunette had hit a nerve, Dutchy jerked his head up and he hands spasmed in their place clenched on his knees.

"Youse are!" Dutchy hastened to reply, holding out an arm to emphasize his point, before lowering it and looking at the ground. "I jus'…. I didn' know what ta do…" he seemed to loose all will to argue, and looked up at Specs with wide eyes. "Ise…why'd you stop me?"

"'Cause I care abou' you, Dutchy. I couldn' jus' watch you die…!"

"I wish you'd let me die!" Dutchy burst out, his voice edged with hysteria, "Then 'e couldn' hurt me anymore!" As if remembering emotions that went with those words, Dutchy shuddered, and made his way back to his bed, where he lay staring at the ceiling.

As much as Specs poked and prodded, he couldn't get Dutchy to say another word. His mouth was still sealed. 

Specs silently wondered who "he" was. 

***

End Comments: And Jonas Archer is finally revealed! ::cheers:: this was a fun chapter to write! (Even if it could still use some tweaking…) Next chapter is back to Jack and Spot! ::bounces:: Now let's just see if I can get my act together.


	4. A Crack in the Wall

Notes: wow… I'm on chapter 4 already?!  ::looks around in amazement:: woo!! For me this is rather quick. Okay, enough babbling…. No extra warnings this chapter! ..^_^..

Thank you's: First and foremost the reviewers (I love you guys)!!!! (Stage, Ann Valentine, Wizesandz and Carmen especially, thanks for your multiple reviews!! They make me happy as a chipmunk!!) Also, to Carmen, who I will probably thank at the beginning of every chapter. She deserves all of them. Thanks for your wonderful praise and your good ideas! If you hadn't helped me I'd still be obsessing over chapter two!! (I swear I would). 

Disclaimer: Nope, still don't own 'em. 

As usual, read, enjoy, review!!

Foundations

Chapter Four: A Crack in the Wall

            Jack sat on cobblestones, leaning against the cold stone of the statue. He was thinking about his confrontation last night, and he was just as confused now as he had been before. Spot did that to him sometimes. He had thought that all of the others had gone off to lunch already, and was startled when he heard a soft voice speak, breaking the silence. 

"Youse not hungry, Jack?" He looked up, and saw Snoddy staring down at him questioningly.

"Naw, not really. 'M jus' thinkin'." He replied in much the same soft tone.   
            "Wha'cha thinkin' abou'?" Snoddy asked curiously.

"Not much really…" He answered, not really wanting to discuss the object of his thoughts.

"Aww… c'mon!" Snoddy persisted, putting his hands on his hips. "Youse knows youse wanna tawk abou' it."  Well, it didn't really seem as if the other boy was going to go away, so…

"Aiight. If youse really wanna knows. Ise made a mistake an' Ise don' know 'ow ta fix it. I'm jus' tryin' ta t'ink of a solution."

 "Ooooh. Wha' kinda mistake?"

"A big one. Wit Spot. I ain't seen 'im fer six weeks now, neahly." 

"Evah try talkin' ta 'im? I've 'eard dat helps sometimes." Snoddy voice became jokingly sarcastic.

"Yeh, but youse knows how it is. 'E still didn' listen. Dis is Spot wese talkin' abou' heah." Snoddy chuckled. 

"Wha'd ya do, kiss 'im or somethin'?" 

"Somethin' likes dat." Jacks voice grew serious again, Snoddy's eyes widened and his jaw dropped slightly. "Ehy! Ise was drunk!"

"Jack, Ise don't really care why youse kissed him. Oar whatevah. I jus' wasn' 'spectin' ta hit da nail on da head. Youse don' really strike me as dat kinda poisen." Jack kept tactfully silent. He didn't really know what he was. "I t'ink you should t'ink abou' what youse feels and den go tell Spot." Snoddy sounded confident. 

"T'anks fer da advice, Snod." Jack answered truthfully. 

"Oh, an' Jack? It might do ya some good ta t'ink abou' dis: when youse is drunk, sometimes youse jus' do wha' youse wan' ta do when youse sobah, but don't have da courage." Snoddy then turned to get lunch, and thought as he was leaving '_Well, Ise hopes Ise did 'im some good. Aftah all, Ise knows my shit. Seein' as me and Skits have been toggedah __fer almost a yeah now.' He hurried to catch up to his partner, leaving Jack still sitting and contemplating. Jack, for his part, barely noticed Snoddy's departure, so wrapped up was he in his thoughts. He sat there in silence for some time._

***

Spot was one of those people that didn't have to think while they were selling. He let his mouth do its thing, while his brain was off thinking of something completely different. This was the way he was this particular morning. He was shouting the headline (or as close as he could and still be able to sell papers), but he was really thinking about Jack. He knew there was something….peculiar about their relationship, that there had been from the start. He was mulling over their conversation and trying to put his finger on what it was. He was still drawing a blank. 

It wasn't that they weren't good friends, but sometimes it just got strained. Mostly around Sarah. Spot really, really disliked Sarah, and he didn't know why. It wasn't like she was unpleasant to him, but she was so…clingy and helpless. And Jack acted differently around her too; it was like whenever she was around he would withdraw into himself and not come out till she left. He said he loved her. Is that how you act when you're in love? _'Humph! Good thing ise ain't gonna fall in love.' _

A nauseatingly truthful inner voice made itself known in his consciousness, **_'But if you aren't attracted to him, why do you get so angry when she kisses him, when she touches him.' Spot balked at the idea that he would ever care about such a thing. '_****_So that time when you stormed all the way back to Brooklyn, didn't happen to be because Sarah and Jacky-boy were swapping large amounts of spit in a public place?' ___**

_'No!' he exclaimed to himself, __'Ise 'ad jus' lost all o' my money ta Race in Poker! Dats why ise left fer __Brooklyn__!'_

_'**Sure, sure, Spotty. Whatever you say.' The voice replied patronizingly. Now, if this was anybody else, they would have already succumbed to the fact that they were attracted to Jack, but this wasn't anybody else. This was Spot. And Spot was nothing if not stubborn. He refused to acknowledge the attraction, if for the sole reason that he was determined not to let Jack have any power over him. Spot could not, would not trust anybody enough to let them control him, no matter how small the amount of control would be. But this did not mean that Spot didn't wake up some nights covered in sweat, panting, aroused and think of a certain, very male, face before pushing it away and blaming it on the hot nights and teenage hormones coursing through his body. **_

Spot stopped hawking mid-sentence. '_Don't think about that…just don't.' He then noticed he was receiving confused stares and resumed loudly. And then that insidious little voice came back, '****__You could have stopped yourself, you know that right?'_

_'Huh?'_

**_'That night you had sex with Jack. You could've stopped yourself.'_**

_'What're youse talkin' abou' Ise was drunk! How was Ise suppose' ta know what was gonna happen?'_

**_'Oh, don't give me that crap. You've been drunk before. And you were just intoxicated, not incapacitated.'_**

_'If Ise hadn' been drunk, ise nevah woulda done dat!'_

**_'I didn't say you would've had sex with him if you had been sober, I just said you could have stopped yourself…if you had wanted to.' With that last ominous comment, the voice backed down again leaving his thoughts to sputter and halt like a dying car engine. _**

_'I…could've stopped…myself…?'  How did this voice even know? And why was he listening? But the seed was there, a disturbing idea that could grow like ivy on the smooth walls he had built around himself. _

Feeling more than slightly disturbed, he began to stumble back to the lodging house, his last paper having been sold minutes before. 

***

It was later that evening, and everyone had settled down and fallen asleep. There where many questions as to why Specs, Dutchy and Jack had missed lunch, questions that none of them were inclined to answer. Jack himself was mentally exhausted and so had not noticed that his belt was missing. He appeared to still be deep in thought and barely smiled when Snoddy winked at him knowingly. He settled down and fell into a deep sleep almost instantly. But that did not mean that he didn't dream restlessly. 

-_Jack looked up. He twirled in a circle, disoriented as to where he was. He was on some sort of bridge. Oh, the __Brooklyn__Bridge__. Why was he on the __Brooklyn__Bridge__ in the middle of the night?_

_Then he got his answer: "Ehya dere Jacky-boy" wafted a coy voice from behind him. The only one who called him that was…._

_"Ehy Spot." Jack turned around and saw the boy behind him had a mischievous grin on his face. Had he been standing there this whole time…? _

_"Whacha doin' here Jacky-boy?" The smaller boy asked, still grinning._

_"I dunno." Jack answered honestly. _

_"Sure ya do!"  Spot replied cheerfully. And then all of a sudden Spot was kissing him, he was so startled that he almost didn't respond. Almost. The kiss was brutal and primal, their tongues met and twined. Jack roughly pushed Spot against the railing of the Bridge, ravishing the warm, red cavern of his mouth. Jack kept on hand on Spot's shoulder, pinning him to the rail, but let the other wander down the boys chest and waist, sliding up under his shirt and around to the waistband of his pants. Spot moaned into his mouth and arched his back…-_

And then Jack woke up. He opened his eyes, groaned and thought in slight panic 'W_hy was Ise thinkin' dat? Why was Ise dreamin' dat?'  He wished he could deny it, but he couldn't. That was what he wished he was doing to Spot right now, and he hoped, perversely, that when he went back to sleep, he would pick up where he had left off. Although he had realized that he did indeed want to screw Spot senseless, he was still not quite sure where that fit in with his normal life, and what it implied about him and Sarah. Eventually he fell back into a deep sleep, and did not dream again that night._

***  
End Chapter 4

Notes: The voice that pops up a lot in my fics, (and will in the future I'm sure) Spots voice in this case, is my demon voice, Murray. Yes, his name is Murray. I loves him ta pieces. ..^_^..  Yaaaay!!! Stuff gets a little happier after this. Still more plot, but also they start to figure stuff out finally! Yay! Took them long enough, ne? This is prolly gonna be around 10 chapters long… so…yeah. I hope you enjoyed this chapter!!


	5. Crying in the Moonlight

Notes: Chapter 5, Extra warnings?....erm…yes. Violence in this chapter!! Bwahahahahahahahahahahahaha!!!!!!!

Thanks yous: Reviewers!!!  Thank you all sooo muuuch!!! And, of course, Carmen! Who has helped me tons with this beautiful thing I like to call a plot, it makes a first performance in this fic ^^. ::hands Carmen Jewish desserts:: and because they cut off my review for your last chapter (-_-) ::hits blink over the head with a plastic cup:: (that is for all of his stupid angsting … ^_^) 

Disclaimer: Gah!!!!! Do I HAVE to do this every chapter? ::pouts:: Well, I still don't own them, happy now!? 

Foundations

Chapter Five: Crying in the Moonlight

Specs woke up early in the morning, the birds just beginning to wake. He looked slowly around the room; no one else had woken yet. He smiled softly and sat up slowly, trying to keep the springs under his mattress from creaking. He rubbed his eyes and yawned, stretching his arms and back. All around him was the soft breathing and occasional snores of sleeping boys. He looked over to the bed next to his, to Dutchy's sleeping form. He had forgotten to take his glasses off before he drifted off to sleep, and they were crooked on his nose. His golden hair was rumpled and messy, it told of much tossing and turning during the night. But for now he was peaceful, his features relaxed. '_'E looks almos' angelic,' thought Specs surreptitiously. Then he noticed the thin red line around Dutchy's neck, which stood out brilliantly against his pale skin. Rope burn. _

            Specs shuddered involuntarily. If he hadn't decided to come back to the Lodging House…._'If Ise hadn' come back to da lodgin' 'ouse, 'e wouldn' be livin' righ' now,' Specs thought in slight anger. '__'Ow could 'e do dat ta 'imself? 'Specially when alla us newsies care fer 'im. It don't make sense. 'E seemed so gentle an' carefree, what woulda made 'im think ta do such a thing?' Then another thing occurred to Specs, '__What if 'e tries again? Maybe Ise should stick around 'im ta make sure. Maybe Ise can even find ou' who did whatevah it was ta set 'im off…!' Specs then smiled a little, his mind made up and more at ease. He would sell papers with Dutchy, make sure he didn't do anything stupid, and possibly try to talk to him about what happened. Now cheerful almost to the point of humming, Specs thought this was going to actually be a good day. _

            But then again, what did he know? 

***

As Dutchy finished buying his papers, he walked out of the iron gates, only to find that Specs had been waiting for him outside. He sighed inwardly; he should have known that Specs would never let him alone. Especially not after what he had tried to do the day before. Without even trying to argue, he asked Specs softly, "so, wheres ya wanna go?" 

"Where youse normally go's fine wit me." Specs answered cheerfully, smiling at Dutchy. Dutchy's answer was silent, he nodded not even thinking. He did not remember that Jonas Archer knew all of the places he sold. He did not remember that a few days had passed since Arch had actually tried to hurt him last. He did not remember that Archer seldom left more than a day between assaults. All he was thinking about was that he had let out a vital piece of information out the afternoon before, in his hysterical anger, and that he was dead set on not letting in happen again. They strode on in almost silence, the only noise, the shouts of the modified headlines, and the chatter of the passerby. Dutchy determined to not think, and Specs pondering quietly to himself. 

They sold their papers at a steady rate, eventually selling them all. They then began to head back to the lodging house and the other newsies. About halfway there Specs stopped walking, "Ehy, Dutchy? Can wese stop fer a minute? Ise feels like Ise is abou' ta fall ovah from hungah."

"Deres a bakery righ' dere." Dutchy pointed to the bakery two stores down. "Why don' youse buy some bread or somethin'?" Specs looked doubtful for a moment, indecisive. Then he nodded.

"Yeh. Wait righ' here, ok?" 

"Yeh, I know." Specs then headed down the street, and entered the bakery. 

Dutchy fidgeted, feeling slightly nervous about being all by himself. He shook his head, '_Nothin's gonna 'appen, don' be paranoid.' But he knew it wasn't paranoia. Then he remembered, with Specs gone it was much easier, and he looked around wildly, his light hair whipping in his face, he hoped Specs would be back soon. Seconds, minutes went by, without sign of either Specs or Arch. He almost thought that he needn't have worried. _

Then a slightly gawky, dark haired, gray eyed body stepped out of the space between the buildings. On his face was a vicious grin, his sharpened canines poking out over his thin bottom lip. Dutchy backed up a few steps, his heartbeat quickening, his breath catching in his throat. "Right on time, little one," An amused tenor said nicely, as if announcing he was on time for a history lesson. A large hand grabbed his upper arm firmly, dragging him unresisting farther into the small space. _'Oh shit. Oh shit, oh shit oh shit ohshitohshitohshitohshit…' his brain babbled, panicking._

He struggled as he was pulled farther into the alley, he struggled as he was slammed up against the unrelenting brick walls, he struggled until he was slapped hard across the face, his glasses jarred from his face. Then he didn't struggle anymore. 

***

Specs brushed the leftover crumbs off of his face and shirt as he trotted out of the bakery. It had only taken his five minutes to get the roll he had bought, and then he had practically shoved the whole thing straight into his mouth. He was still chewing as he left the store, and began walking back towards where Dutchy was. 'C_orrection, wheres Dutchy was s'posed ta be…' He stumbled to the front of the dollar store he had left Dutchy in front of, twirling in a circle to see if the blonde was still in sight. He sighed deeply, knowing that if he couldn't see the other boy now, it would take a long time to find him. '__Ise 'ope nothin' 'appened ta him…'  As if in answer to his vague worry, he then heard noises coming from the small opening between the buildings, what kind of noises, he did not know. He turned quickly into the alley, and stopped. '__Well,' his mind supplied rather calmly, '__dis sure explains a lot.' He stood frozen, as he watched Dutchy, his best friend, get molested by some unexplained man. Dutchy was lying on the ground, his legs splayed at an awkward angle, the entire right side of his face red and blotchy, the left completely white. A dirty looking dark-haired man was straddling his waist, his shaggy brown hair hanging a lot of his face, his hands clutching the pale yellow of Dutchy's over shirt. As Specs processed the situation, he unfroze and ran at the man, tackling him, shoving him off of Dutchy's prone form. He then punched the man, hard, hitting him on the left side of his jaw. The man grimaced angrily and shoved. Hard. Specs tumbled and rolled in the waste littering the alley. He got up slowly, looking up to find the man had hauled Dutchy to his feet, he was limping, "Back off little boy. The pretty one is mine, and he knows it." He grinned maliciously. Dutchy shuddered, his now dirty hair falling into his face. _

"No." Specs said, growling heatedly. 

"Well then, I guess I have another pretty boy to play with." His smile became almost cheerful, cheerful and slightly crazy. He strolled forward, and Specs stumbled back, intimidated by the sudden change of character. Specs quickly kneeled, pulling out his knife and stood again. "Oh! So the pretty boy has a pretty toy, does he not?" He did not seem to be nervous at all because of the drawn weapon, steel glinting in the half-light. Arch sauntered right up to Specs and grabbed him by the shirt, leaving Dutchy to fall back to the floor, his ankle not able to support his full weight. He sat in the mouth of the alley, motionless. Arch suddenly growled and pulled Specs off of his feet, his rage abruptly coming back, "The pretty boy wouldn't be doing anything with his toy, now would he?" he snarled out the words. Specs choked, his breath shortened by the collar of his shirt being pressed into his esophagus. Using all of his force, Specs pulled back his knife arm and slammed it into Arch's stomach as hard as he could. The knife slid in easily, all the way to the hilt, Arch's eyes widened and then narrowed again, "You…you stabbed me!" his hands tightened on Spec's collar, purposely choking him this time. Blood bubbled around the knife and Specs pulled it out. He didn't have much strength left, '_It's gotta be now, or I'll die!' He thought panicking. He pulled his arm back again, and slammed the knife into the left side of Arch's chest. The older man's body crumpled and Specs crumpled with it; his heart had collapsed, or had been ruined by the knife, killing him almost instantly. _

But that did not mean that he didn't bleed. Specs didn't even manage to pull the knife out; he scurried away from the body as quickly as possible. Blood oozed out of both wounds, red and fresh becoming a pool around the body. Specs only glanced at it for a second, before he was violently ill. '_Oh my lord, I really did it this time, I killed someone. Oh god oh god oh god, I killed someone. I took a human life…' his thoughts spiraled out of control, he could feel the knife going in, it slid in so easily. He watched the life leave the man's eyes. He turned aside and vomited again. He wiped his mouth, then wide eyed, he staggered back to where Dutchy sat still, looking at him almost serenely. He looked like a man who had just come out from war, and had seen too many horrible things. The air about him was terribly jaded. Specs guessed he seemed jaded too, now. Specs picked up the blonde's glasses from the very right of the alley, helped the blonde up and with each other's help, they made their way slowly back to the Lodging House, far away from this awful place._

***

A few hours later, Dutchy sat motionless on his bed, not talking, not thinking. He glanced over to Specs, the brunette had his face buried in his pillow, and he seemed to be shaking slightly. "Specs," he whispered, "can Ise tawk to youse?" he wasn't sure if Specs could here him, but he didn't want to talk any louder, he didn't feel up to it. He smiled with bruised lips as he heard a muffled assent. "Specs, look at me. Please…" Specs lifted his head; his face was wet with tears. 

"Yeh?" Dutchy gestured with his head towards the fire escape. Specs shrugged and nodded, standing and wiping his face, before helping Dutchy towards the window. Some of the other newsies, Snoddy, Blink and Mush especially, looked at them worriedly, knowing better than to intrude. Specs opened the window to the fire escape and slid through, supporting Dutchy as he went through afterwards. They sat on the cold metal; the physicality of it was comforting. "Specs, is youse okay….?" Dutchy questioned, although he already knew the answer. 

"No, Dutchy. Ise ain't okay, not at all." He closed his eyes, and laid his head back against the railing. "Ise, Dutchy…oh god, Dutchy. Ise actually killed someone! Someone dat was livin', an' isn' anymore!" 

"Ise dunno if dis'll help at all, but Ise wants youse ta know anyway. Specs, youse saved me; I know you killed Archer, but 'e woulda nevah left me alone, I woulda gone insane, or tried to kill myself again, and maybe 'ave actually succeeded." He twined his fingers in his hair, "Dis ain't coming out how Ise wanted it at all. But please know, dat even d'ough youse killed a man, Ise thank youse fer it. Youse saved my life, one way or da uddah." 

"It's such a horrible feelin', knowin' dat Ise killed a human, no mattah 'ow awful an' mad 'e was." Specs sniffed pitifully, trying to hold back tears but not quite managing to. They rolled down his cheeks, and Dutchy hugged him tightly, remembering how just the day before Specs had done this for him. Specs curled into his arms, sobbing into Dutchy's already wet shoulder. They stayed like this for some time. 

***

End chapter Five

End Notes: welp, there goes Arch. His craziness kinda grew on me to tell you the truth. Not the whole raping thing. That just ain't my style. Good thing he has a cool twin. (Yep I based him offa a different character, who was actually good.) Well, he was a good villain anyway ^_^. ß More beauty marks! (Or periods as some people call them). ::Squeals:: I can't wait for the fluff! And see! Dutchy is not totally a wimp!!! ::huggles Dutchy and Specs::


	6. Ruins in the Ivy

Notes: Wah! Ok…done now.

Real Notes: Sorry this took so long. School and other stuff got in the way. Plus, I'm a big procrastinator. In case you didn't know, a challah is a kind of Jewish bread. It kicks ass. 

Thank Yous: To all the loverly people who have read this story! Especially to all those who reviewed!!!! And those who reviewed multiple times…..well, I can't even begin to thank you! ::hugs all of her wonderful reviewers:: ^_^… (I'm a review glutton, feed me). And to Carmen, Wizesandz and Fatechan, thanks for all the plot bunnies. (I'm hiding them under my spare bed). 

Disclaimer: ::holds up a sign that says _'See other chapters. Same applies here'.::_

Foundations

Chapter Six: Ruins in the Ivy

            The loud stomps of Kloppman's thick soled boots echoed loudly as he trudged up the steps to the bunk room. Jack woke instantly; his uneasy sleep disrupted for the last time. Yawning widely and soundlessly he stretched his arms to the sides, groaning slightly. The mattress creaked loudly in protest as he sat up quickly – and then dropped back down as the top of his head came in contact with the stout wood eyebeam above his top bunk.  '_Ow….' He thought, rubbing his head and glaring at the wood beam above him. '__Well, dis don' look good fer da resta da day.'  Jack shoved off his sheets and half fell out of bed, grabbing the side of the bunk to keep himself from hitting the floor. Luckily, today no one was sleeping under him. He grabbed his pants in one hand as he steadied himself. While he pulled them on with one hand, he reached for his shirt with the other. Tugging it over his head, he left his suspenders trailing, and trotted off to the bathroom, noticing as he passed that most of the other boys were still in the midst of waking as Kloppman's loud voice washed over the room. As he passed Dutchy's bed he was startled to notice that the blond was gone, as was Specs, who should have been sleeping in the adjacent bed. It was only when he reached the fire escape window that he understood their absence. '__Guess deys fell asleep out dere when dey was talking' last night. Hm…' It was interesting how they clutched each other in sleep the way they were afraid to when conscious; Specs' hands were clutched white-knuckled into the folds of Dutchy's open over shirt, Dutchy's hair drifting across the brunette's face. Jack shook his head, and strolled into the bathroom, stopping in front of one of the rust covered basins. He stuck his head under the faucet and began to pump the water over his head. He only lasted about fifteen seconds under the frigid water, and then just as he began to shiver he stopped the pump. Rubbing a nearby towel on his hair, he partially dried it, and flipped it backwards, keeping it away from his face. He strode out of the door, and down the steps; first one out of the door again today. _

            There was no line for papers, the newsboys had not yet left the lodging house. Actually most of them were probably still hauling themselves out of bed. Jack collected his papers, and automatically modified the headline to sell. ("Giants rats living in sewers! Infestation eminent!") He churned them out quickly, years of practice coming in handy. 

His mornings were mindless, routine kicked in from when he woke up until he got his papers and beyond.  There was no variation in the mornings. He got up, got dressed, bought his papers, sold them and came home, eating somewhere in between. A riveting life, huh? Until recently anyway. Then again, he didn't know which was better, being completely confused about your sexuality, or living a repetitious, boring lifestyle. It was so much easier with Sarah… but did he really want to go back to something like that? His life right now was much more interesting, if infinitely more frustrating. '_Sarah's ovah, no use thinkin' about her. But…' he thought, lingering over the subject, '__Maybe she didn' love me…but she acted loike it! Wull, maybe Ise didn' love her. Den how come I didn' know? Ise t'ink she sensed somethin' Ise didn't. Goils intuition an' all dat.' His mouth quirked into a small grin. Then he felt his thoughts drifting towards Spot. Lust was the only word he could think of to describe what he felt for Spot. He ran a hand through his still damp hair, pulling off of his face, and sighed deeply. He didn't understand Spot's unwillingness – hell, his blatant refusal – to get involved or have sex with anyone he knew. '__Christ, Ise 'ave quite a life. Ise dunno where Ise is goin' with Spot, I dunno what Ise feel abou' 'im. All Ise really knows is dat Ise wants __'im. Da way I'm t'inkin' abou' it, 'e's gonna get dat stick up 'is ass removed. It's 'is choice whether Ise use da hard or da easy way.' _

 He looked up suddenly, all of his papers gone, his hands filled with change that he quickly stored in his pockets. He wasn't ready to go back, so he began to wander aimlessly, staring at the stores as he walked past, at the clouding sky above, and the grey cobblestone below. He wasn't surprised when he looked up and had no idea where he was. He was only surprised by what he saw when he lifted his head from his feet, and looked to the other end of the street. He saw an immediately recognizable figure, who seemed to be absorbed in the activities going on in the shops. Then the boy looked up, staring at him dumbfounded. Jack smirked and began to stroll down the street, no longer paying any attention to the passing stores, the clouding sky or the grey cobblestones by his feet. He only looked out in front of him, smiling at the wide-eyed figure staring at him from down the street. 

***

Spot sat on the edge of the dock, his pants rolled up to his knees, his legs swinging over the edge. The water came only to his ankles, the frigid liquid causing the hair on his legs and arms to rise.  His hands were cupped in front of him, sifting a number of small nails between them, ignoring the sharp pokes along his palms. '_Stupid life. Why'd youse havta change so damn quickly?' He picked one of the nails out of his palm, and chucked it into the open water. It sailed for a couple of yards before he heard it hit the water with a distinct __plink. __Plunk went the next, __ploink the one after that. His shirt was open, exposing skin to the chill air. Goose pimples spread across his chest, but he paid them no notice. __Plink, plunk, plunk. Three more bits of metal, sinking into the polluted blue-brown water. Erotic images flashed through his mind, what he could remember of the incident. '__The palm of a hand sliding along a sweaty chest. The curve of an arched back. Bangs plastered against a wet forehead. A mouth gasping open, framed by full lips.' He tossed his head, and hurled the rest of the nails into the bay letting the satisfying tones of __plunk, ploink, plink fill his mind. He stood and walked barefoot down the planks, leaving wet footprints in his path and upon reaching the other edge slipped on his shoes. _

***

Spot walked down the mostly deserted street, his wet feet squelching and squeaking against the soggy soles of his shoes. His rolled up pants had become uneven as he walked, the left leg almost to his ankle, while the right was still just under his knee. He turned his head aside and spit, leaving a wet splotch in the cobblestone. The bitter taste of summer's end still clung in his throat, cloying but almost overripe. A warm breeze swept lazily across the street, whistling as it entered the alley to his left. 

He saw a bustling bakery further down the street, and walked by it, watching the people as they entered and left the store. A large woman with a big brown bag pulled behind her a small boy with startlingly red hair, a thumb stuck in his mouth. An old balding man ate a roll as he read the newspaper on a bench outside the store, his dog on a leash sitting by his feet. A young couple walked down the sidewalk, the man holding a challah in his arms. Both young man and woman wore gentle smiles, directed towards the other. A little girl stood beside her mother, stuffing a cinnamon bun in her mouth as fast as possible. '_It's people loike dis dat need uddah people. Not guys loike me. Ise don' need anyone.'  He kept walking. His step faltered as more images bubbled to the top of his mind. __'Long fingered hands twining in strands of dark blonde hair. The drum beat rhythm of thrusting hips. A web of saliva across the planes of an angular chest.'  He pushed the memories away. '__Ise don' need anyone.' He looked up, realizing his feet had gone on without him. His eyes widened. Stalking gracefully towards him from the other end of the street was none other than Jack Kelly. Then he did something that surprised himself even more than seeing the other boy._

Spot Conlon turned and fled. 

***

End Chapter Six

End Notes: so… whaddya think?  Actually, I think this is a decent chapter. You know you want to review, right?


	7. A Breath of Air

Author's Notes: Well, it's been a long time since I picked this one up. I got caught up in Gundam Wing again…and then The Faculty of all such things. But, for now, I'm back and ready to start writing Newsies again. I hope you all like. And I feel bad that it has been so long! 

Silly note:  You know you're tired when you write Itchy instead of Dutchy….

Thanks Yous: It's very hard trying to think up un-cliché scenes, so I'd like to thank Wizesandz and Fatechan for that. Carmen, I hope to talk to you soon! And, of course, the reviewers. Thanks as well to all those people who kicked me in the rear and told me to get it in gear! Mainly Stage, Wizesandz and Carmen. Thank'ee!

Disclaimer: I don't own the Newsies, and probably never will…. And I'm getting tired of having to write this all the time, when I obviously don't own anything…

Foundations

Chapter Seven: A Breath of Air

The sunlight streamed down onto Spec's upturned face. Still sleeping, he squeezed his eyes closed as tightly as possible and groaned softly. His nose wiggled as blond hair fell against it and he roused, sneezing loudly. One eye cracked open, and then shut tightly again, the piercing light of the sun shooting straight into Specs' sleep-filled eyes. Pain shot up and down his arms, emanating from his hands. Very slowly and carefully, he uncurled his fingers from their fisted position among the folds of Dutchy's yellow shirt. Slowly flexing the tortured muscles of his hands, he reached back to scratch at a tickling on the base of his neck. Brown eyes opened again and brown eyebrows shot up when he felt a piece of old newspaper clothes-pinned to the back of his shirt. Holding the paper in front of him, Specs straightened his glasses, and read the note scribbled in the margins of the day old paper. The note read, in Blink's loopy but legible handwriting,

_Specs and Dutchy-_

_            All of da newsboys and Mush and me decided pitch in some money for you, so you don't havta sell today. We talked it over wit Kloppman, an' he decided you could both use da day off. 'Sides, you boys looked so cute out there! _

_-Blink, Mush and the whole gang_

Specs blushed and imagined the lewd smile Blink must have worn when he wrote said note. 

            Dutchy still hadn't stirred. Specs looked over his shoulder at the blond, and blushed a deeper red. His legs and back were still pressed against the blond's slim body, and Specs could feel his body heat, even through two layers of clothing. _''E… does look cute…' Specs realized. Dutchy's hair was still strewn across his face and neck, his light brows furrowed cutely from the bright sun filtering through his eyelids. Slowly, one eye peeked open, the other one squinting in daylight. _

            Specs pulled his lips into a small smile, aware that their bodies were still touching, and that his face must also be pink. Dutchy yawned and stretched, and Specs couldn't help but notice that his undershirt, still visible through his open over shirt, rode up on his stomach just a tad. _'Ise wouldn'a noticed this yestaday, would Ise?'  He realized. __'Wha' happened?' No answers became apparent immediately. Specs looked away from Dutchy's waist and ran his fingers through his bangs, then realizing the absence of his bowler hat. He began looking around the fire escape for it. Dutchy, grasping what he was searching for, reached behind him, nearer to the wall of the Lodging House. He then handed the retrieved bowler to Specs._

            "Ise saw dat youse 'ad gone ta sleep wit youse's hat on, an' I figured you'd be wantin' ta take it off. So Ise did it fer ya." Dutchy said in a sleepy voice. "Wha' toime is it anyway?"

            "Late," Specs replied, "but dem guys let us have da day off, cuz we was lookin' all depressed last noight. What wit youse and ya sprained ankle." 

            "An' youse was sobbin' inta a pillow. You t'ink dat let dem in on it, huh?"

            "Maybe, but Ise don' wanna t'ink abou' last noight any more den I gots ta." Specs said soberly. Dutchy nodded in response.  

            "Me neithah."

***

             Sitting at a window table in Tibby's, it seemed as if nothing was wrong. Dutchy gesturing towards the passing crowd with a forked sausage; Specs' hands folded primly under his chin, eyes gazing off into nothing.

            "Ehy, Specs?" Dutchy asked quietly, his eyes not moving from the people gathering and separating outside, "Wha' do wese do now?"

            "T'day? Oah in general?" 

            "Eithah. Both. I don'know." 

"Ise don'know eidah. Wha' is dere dat we really _can_ do? Ise guess wese jus' ignoah it, oah wese deal wid it." They lapsed back into silence, Dutchy watching the people, Specs watching Dutchy. 

Minutes passed, both boys sitting silently, others entering and leaving the restaurant around them. Slowly, inch by inch, Dutchy turned his head back to face Specs. He looked distressed; the lines on his faced deepening, his hair falling over his eyes. 

"Ehy, Specs?" he repeated, his voice wavering slightly.  

"Yeh, Dutchy?" Specs replied, his own voice quiet.

"Can Ise…can Ise tell youse 'bout 'im? Please? Ise… need to." Dutchy trailed off uncertainly. "Ise jus' can' forget." Specs hesitated for a moment, before nodding decisively. 

"Let's get outta heah." Specs stood up before offering Dutchy a hand, which the other boy clasped as he rose to his feet. 

***

With nowhere to go, nowhere they needed to be, they headed east. They wandered the streets, passing decrepit old buildings, unused lots, fading storefronts and homey but rundown markets. Finally, they reached facade of an old church. The stone blocks that formed the walls were darkened almost to black with soot and dirt, two ancient gargoyles rested on either side of the arch above the warped wood door. It seemed as if it had gone unused for some time. No candles or lamps could be seen inside the streaked stained glass windows. 

Dutchy, walking almost silently, motioned for Specs to follow him into the church. He picked his way up the crumbling steps, and reached for one of the chipping black handles of the door, and pulled it open, wincing at the whine of old hinges. Dusting the chipped black paint off of his hands, he turned to see Specs climbing the stairs after him. Waiting for Specs to grab hold of the door, he strode into the darkened church. It took less than a minute to reach the back of the church, and without turning to see if Specs was following him he began to ascend the narrow stairs up to the organ platform. The organ itself was gone, either stolen or sold, leaving the platform empty. Dutchy sat cross-legged on the floor, facing the entrance, brushing the dust of the floor into intricate patterns before destroying them again. Waiting for Specs to join him. 

"So, youse wan'ed ta tell me som'thin'." A quiet voice from the dark doorway. Dutchy started slightly, looking up from the floor to the entranceway. 

"Yeh. Siddown, why don' youse?" Specs came forward into the meager light, and slid gracefully to the ground next to Dutchy, against the back wall. 

"Youse was gonna tell me abou' 'im. Abou' Arch." Dutchy shivered at the mention of his name. "Youse don' 'ave to if youse don' wanna." His voice was still quiet, calm, collected. Unlike Dutchy himself. Struggling to regain control, he nodded.

"Yeh, Ise do have to. Bettah now den nevah, as dey all say." He sighed, "Jonas Archer was a friend o' da family. If it wasn' fer 'im, Ise'd still be dere now." His story came out one word at a time. While his voice didn't falter, Dutchy could not keep a few tears slipping from his eyes. He had been born in a town outside of the New York City limits, into a kind, if poor, family. He had known Arch for as long as he could remember. By the time he was seven, he was already being assaulted by the older man behind his family's back. Threats kept him from telling anyone. "'E tol' me some many time dat 'e was gonna kill me if Ise tol' anyone." On his tenth birthday, he was raped for the first time. "Sometimes Ise couldn' even talk to my family it hurt so much. Dey tried ta figure out what was wrong. Ise shook dem off. Told dem it was nothin'." He became more introverted, talked less. When he was twelve, a couple of weeks before Christmas, he finally decided to leave. "Ise figured Ise'd go to da City, get lost in da crowds. So Ise did. An' all was right again, Ise 'ad a family of sorts. Ise tried ta forget, an' Ise succeeded, until 'e same back." Dutchy stuttered to a stop, looked down at his knees. He bit his lip, trailed his fingers through the dust. Specs, shocked into silence, opened and closed his mouth several times, before gathering Dutchy's slim body into his arms, if only to reassure himself that the blond was still there. Still with him. 

Dutchy shifted in his grip, turned to face the brunet behind him, just looking at him. He quickly leaned forward, awkwardly smashing his lips against Specs before retreating. Then, almost silently, he uttered three simple words:

"Stay with me."

***

End Chapter Seven

End Notes: Okay, okay…so it took me four months (or more?)… and it's pretty damn short… but don't kill me! They kissed didn't they? 


	8. Confessing my Sins

Notes: None. I think. I'm trying to keep these short. 

Thanks: Um….Everyone? Reviewers: Thanks for the support! Gah, I am so hopelessly addicted to reviews…. Oi. And thanks to my betas Fatechan, Wizesandz, and Carmen! You all know I say the same thing here every time. So you don't really have to read it.  Yadda yadda yadda. Boff! (My new favorite word).

Disclaimer: I'm too wound up to be creative right now. I don't own anything that has to do with Newsies. At least I don't right now. ~_^

Foundations

Chapter Eight: Confessing my Sins

The thud of heavy shoes over cobblestones echoed in the mostly deserted, half-lit streets. Jack stood stunned for a few precious moments as Spot fled, before shaking off his surprise. He chased after the quickly diminishing figure fleeing the scene. _'Dat was unexpected...'  _

Spot was swift and agile, running at a high speed and still managing not to slip on the uneven cobblestones. Jack sprinted as fast as he could; beginning to close the distance between the two of them. Spot reached a crowd of passerby, and threaded through them with ease, fingers brushing their shirts and arms. Several moments passed and Jack plowed through the people, startling several of them, pushing men and women alike aside with clumsy hands. Slowly the distance closed, the two boys ran farther away from busy intersections, treading towards the outskirts of the city.  

Spot stumbled on a loose stone and momentarily lost his footing. Jack, seeing his opportunity, lunged forward and caught the Brooklyn boy by the arm. Without fully turning around, Spot tried to wrench his wrist out of the tight grasp and spat out at Jack, "Get yoah fuckin' 'ands offa me!" 

"Spot! Spot stop!" Jack yelled to the slim boy as he jerked his hand away violently.

"No way in 'ell!" Spot growled, before taking off again. Jack halted for a moment, took a deep breath, and then began to give chase again. 

They reached the river, the cobblestones melting into the docks that lined the shore. Sailboats and cargo ships alike were pulling into the harbor as the day began to draw to a close. The sky had clouded, and the warm summer heat had faded into laden humidity. A few weak rays of sunlight filtered through the thick layer of water vapor. 

Their feet pattered, echoing as they weaved around human bystanders, on alternately the worn wood of the docks or the uneven stone of the road. Time stretched and stretched, until it seemed as if it would break with the tension. Time was elastic, and at any moment it would snap back and hit Jack in the face. He sped up. 

***

Spot glanced over his shoulder. _'Shit,' he thought, mentally grimacing, __''e's catchin' up!'  He felt a drop of sweat trickle between his shoulder blades, his long bangs stuck to his forehead, and the thin soles of his shoes did nothing to cure the throbbing ache in his ankles and shins. He hadn't run like this in a long time. _'Ise shouldn' 'ave ta deal wit dis. Why is 'e pushin' me when it's o'vious I don' wan' nothin' ta do wit 'im?'_  His steps involuntarily slowed as weariness seeped into his bones. __'Don' t'ink Spot, jus' run. Run all youse can.'  He peered over his shoulder again, his eyes widened, the black pupil contracted to a pinprick. __'Fuckin' hell! E' sped up! Wha' does 'e wan' from me?'  _

The puffs of his breath cooled against his cheeks, contrasting the humidity around him. _'Ise nevah was da bes' long distance runnah.... ' He thought, absurdly. His thoughts cut off abruptly as a smooth but firm hand clamped onto his shoulder, the grip like silk and steel. He was pulled sharply around, the movement too sudden for his surprised mind to adjust. Something warm and soft pushed against his lips, just a hint of hardness behind. __'A…mouth? Lips? Ise bein' kissed!'  The lips pressed against his forcefully, a restricted ferocity in their intentions. The tip of a warm tongue slipped along the edge of his mouth, but he refused to let it enter. His mind belatedly caught up with his body, and he tried to pull away, but found he couldn't; the grip still held him tightly. His eyes, having treacherously closed at the onslaught of those lips, flickered open. Jack's sharp eyes and intense face stared back at him. __'Don' react. Jus' stand dere an' stay still an' maybe 'e'll get boahed an' lea'me alone.' He stilled. His body stiffened, his eyes unfocused as he stared unblinkingly into the bangs falling disheveled over Jack's sweaty forehead. It took only moments for Jack to stop his onslaught, his full lips leaving Spot's slightly swollen ones. _

Jack took a step back and tilted his head slightly to the side, considering. He then stepped forward again, and pushed. 

Spot stumbled backward, falling against the wall behind him, his back taking the full force of the blow. Jack just looked at him with calm eyes. Spot straightened and lifted an arm, using the back of his hand to wipe the leftover saliva from his lips. They stared, the silence complete save for the noises of a city reaching the day's end. All questions fled from the recesses of Spot's brain, running out his ears and drifting away on the stagnant air. Finally Jack broke the silence,

"Ise tol' youse dis wasn' sorted, Spot." He said, his voice soft and serious. Spot pulled his lips back in a silent snarl.

"Wha' 'zactly is it dat youse wan', Jackie-boy?"

"Ise wan'ed ta tawk ta youse, Spot."

"No, Jackie-boy, wha' is it dat youse wan' from me?"

"Whatevah Ise can get." Jack replied, his voice even. 

***

Spot's eyes widened and he sucked his breath in through his teeth. Jack just stood still, waiting for Spot's reaction.

"Whaddya mean?" Spot asked slowly.

"Jus' what it sounds loike. Ise messed up, Spot. An' I'll take whatevah kinda relationship youse wanna let me 'ave." 

"Ise can' do dat Jack. Wese 'ad sex." His voice both stressed and softened the last word.

"Yeh, Ise knows. Ise don' un'erstand why dat is such a big problem, but Ise guess it is. Can' youse jus' gimme anuddah chance?" Jack voice softened as well, puzzlement clearly heard in the soft words. 

"Ise don' know. Mebbey. Let me t'ink abou' it." 

"Well, befoah youse go lemme give youse one moah t'ing." Spot raised an eyebrow. Jack leaned forward and placed a hand behind Spot's head, threading his fingers through Spot's hair. Jack's other hand snaked around behind Spot's back and pushed slightly against the small of his back. Spot fell forward a few paces and Jack brought their lips together again. Their lips opened against each other and it was Spot's tongue this time that sought entrance. It ran along Jack's teeth and gums, tangling with his tongue, before retreating again. Their lips smacked as they parted, and Spot lifted his hands to cup Jack's face. He leaned forward and sloppily kissed Jack again on the lips, before pulling back and smirking.

"Yeh, I'll t'ink abou' it." Then he turned and walked away, heading back toward Brooklyn. Jack stood still, a bewildered look on his face. He touched his fingers to his lips before shaking his head and going his own way.

***

Spot strode all the way back to Brooklyn, solidly refusing to think at all. His lips hurt. He rubbed at them idly with the back of a hand as he reached the docks by the Brooklyn Lodging House. The air hung low and humid, and Spot wandered over to the dock, sitting down on the worn boards. He sprawled onto his back and sighed deeply, the moisture in the air beading on the exposed skin of his face and arms. He flopped his arm on top of his eyes, and finally let himself think. 

The images came rushing back, and Spot's mind momentarily froze. '_Shit, Spot. Youse really gotten yoahself into it now.'_ He thought to himself, '_Youse shouldn' like it, but youse do anyway. Youse ain't got no idea o' wha' yoah doin', Spot. Stay outta dis bidness an' you'll stay intact.'  Spot laid his head onto the boards beneath him, only barely refraining from slamming his head against the hard wood in frustration. Could he really do that? Could he stay intact if he left Jack behind? Spot didn't know. '__Ise promised moiself dat Ise wouldn' care 'bout anyone aftah Ise 'ad sex wi' dem. Ise wouldn' let anyone affeck me oah touch me aftah dat. Did Ise betray moiself already?'  _

Spot remembered. The memory of Jack's desire burned through him, and he squeezed his eyes shut. He could still feel Jack's lips pressed against his, Jack's warm breath puffing into his mouth. Just the memory could set Spot's nerves afire, and he groaned, as if in pain, as Jack's dark, narrowed eyes filled his mind. '_Oh my― Ise did! Ise did it already! Ise not s'pposed ta care 'bout 'im! I'm done fer. 'E's gonna chew me up an' spit me out! ' Jack had the power to, Spot knew that. He had gone and handed everything he was to Jack without so much as a fight. ___

'_Wull, 'old on dere fer jus' a second.' A new voice said quietly, surfacing in Spot's mind, _'Youse may 'ave given 'im yoah powah, Ise ain't denyin' dat, but 'e didn' use it agains' youse. Wha' was it 'e said? Dat 'e'll take whatevah 'e can get? An' 'e's given youse da right to choose wheddah ta give 'im a secon' chance.'__

_'Who cares?' _Spot's voice spat back_,_ from its place in his brain,_ 'Ise not s'pposed ta care 'bout anyone aftah dat. Ise ain' gonna be weak.'_

_'Youse knows dat youse lust aftah 'im, right?' _the voice said, changing angles,_ 'Youse t'ought it yoahself! Yoah noives was on fire, remembah?'_

_'Ise don' "lust aftah 'im"! Ise jus' kept loikein' 'im aftah wese 'ad sex. Dat's all!'_

_'But don' youse wanna kiss im? Doesn' 'e make youse 'ard? Youse kno―'_

_'SHUT UP!_

_'Awww… Spotty, don' be dat way.'_

_'Ise said shut up! So shut up!'_

_'Yoah da queen o' denial Spotty….'_ The voice drifted away, and left Spot shaking in the still air. Why did the voices in his head keep forcing him to think? He couldn't even walk away from them; they were in his fucking _head!_

And he still had to make a damn decision. He looked up and the darkening, cloudy sky. _'Yeah, dat's jus' abou' 'ow Ise feel roight now. Cloudy an' dark.' He then chuckled darkly to himself. _

He wasn't at all surprised when it began to rain. Big, fat, crystal droplets collided with his face, arms, and the dock around him. _'Jus' great. Now it gots ta start rainin'. Dere's some symbolism fer ya.'_  Spot just sat in the rain as the droplets began to multiply, a deep scowl on his sharp face. Minutes passed, and Spot's expression smoothed into a vague frown. He stood up, stretched, and walked quietly to the front step of the Lodging House. He looked over his shoulder briefly, glancing at the droplets speeding towards the hard ground, and hearing them splash against the cobblestones. Then he faced forward and strode into the lodging house, his steps clicking softly as he walked.

***

End Chapter Eight

End Notes: Okay, now onto the epilogues (I'll have two) and then the story is over! I hope you had (and are having) as much fun with this as I am. See you next time!


	9. When you're Blue

Simple Endings…..

Authoress' Note: Epilogue One. Last chapter of Dutchy/Specs. Dude. I'm sorry that they're both cry-babies throughout this story! Gah! I feel so bad…. I don't know if this is a good or a bad thing. Heeeeelp meeeeee! 

Thank Yous: Lotsa people. Jessie (Carmen Maria) and Laura. Reviewers, who I LURVE!  Mine Betas. 

Disclaimer: The Newsies are not mine, nor is anything else that is someone else's. And Stuff. Basically, same as in earlier chapters applies here.

Foundations

Chapter Nine: When you're Blue

            When Dutchy and Specs arrived at the Lodging House night had already fallen. They passed Kloppman, who told them gruffly "you're paid fer da night", and trudged up the stairs, dusty and disheveled. Most of the other boys had gone to bed; a few were lounging on the fire escape in the moonlight, talking and smoking. Dutchy sat on his bed and pulled off his shoes, before sliding his pants over his hips. He then removed his over-shirt, trying the shake some of the dust out of it. He looked over Specs, and saw that he was also getting ready for bed. Neither of them spoke

            They both slid into their separate beds, and Dutchy saw Specs' bowler and glasses turn to fuzzy outlines as he slid his own glasses off his nose. He settled into his bed, facing Specs' back, an off-white blob against a darker background.  

            _'Ise kissed Specs, dinit Ise? Why?' He searched his memory, wondering where the impulse had come from, and found nothing. __'Ise wasn' t'inkin'. But Ise do loike 'im, Ise positive 'bout it. Can Ise really deal wid somet'in' loike dat dough? 'Sides… 'e dinit kiss me back, an' Ise can' do anyt'in' widout t'inkin' o' Arch….' He mentally shuddered, and pushed the unwanted thoughts away. Squeezing his eyes shut, Dutchy tried to sleep. _

_- Dreaming had never been pleasant for Dutchy, not since he was a kid._

_He was running down a long, dark hall, the candles lighting his way blew out as he passed them. He heard a frequent dripping all around him, as if the walls and ceiling were weeping fluid. He could see no end to the tunnel, but behind him he heard approaching footsteps. They seemed to be going at a slow walking pace, but Dutchy still knew that they were gaining on him. No matter how fast he ran they got closer. The hall smelled of burnt wicks, melting wax, and an unnamable copper-and-salt smell; Dutchy's breath was coming short and he could see the air leave his body in short puffs. His legs hurt. _

_The floor was slick, and slightly sticky. Even ahead of him, where the candles had yet to extinguish themselves he could not tell its color. _

_He kept running, his breaths panting out of him, the noises he made echoing in the tunnel. His feet thudded against the ground, sometimes slip-sliding through puddled liquid, sometimes sticking fast to the tacky floor. He stumbled, his feet skidding out from under him. His foot twisted sharply and he fell to the ground, his hands breaking his fall. As he pushed himself to his hands and knees he felt his hands sink into the fluid that was dripping from the ceiling. Just as his hands became submerged in the thick liquid he could see it, even in the dark, as if it was illuminated by his touch. Peppermint stripes of blood and semen ribboned the hall; Candy colors hid dark meanings. He gasped in horror, and tried to wipe the vile stew from his hands, but it was already drying, sticking to his flesh in falsely merry colors. The coppery-salty aroma wafted up from the floor, and he could taste its tang in the back of his throat. He tried to get to his feet, tried to ignore the sickly familiar aroma.  Just as he was getting up to run again, he felt the familiar grip of a hand on his wrist. It pulled him up, and as he was yanked around he saw a frightfully familiar face leering down at him._

_Specs' face. _

_Specs' glasses were pushed down on his nose, and his grin was feral. Dutchy's eyes widened in shock. –_

And then he woke up. He wrenched his wrist from the grip holding it, barely realizing that he was awake at all. His chest heaved as tried to catch his breath, his ankle throbbed faintly. Seeing an off-white blob by his bed, Dutchy reached over and grabbed his glasses with slightly shaking hands. Vision cleared, Specs stood next to the bed, his arm outstretched. _'So Specs was da one ta grab my wrist, an' not jus'  in dat dream eidah.'_ Specs leaned forward and his face became illuminated in the moonlight; Dutchy's mouth snapped shut as he saw Specs' face. 

Specs sniffed loudly and rubbed his puffy, red, eyes with the back of his hand. His glasses were nowhere to be seen. His face thinly veiled his sorrow; he looked like someone had destroyed his hopes or snatched away the thing most precious to him. It seemed one wrong word would make his burst into tears. His brow was furrowed, and his mouth was set in a stony line. He blinked furiously, before opening his mouth, and croaking out, 

"Ise sorry, Dutchy," he started softly, "Youse da one wid all da trauma, Ise should be da strong one an' help youse t'rough it all. Not comin' ta youse on da verge o' teahs…." He sniffled helplessly, and rubbed his eyes again. Dutchy just stared at him for a few seconds before he replied quietly, somewhat indignant.

"Youse so stupid! Ise not ecspectin' youse ta be strong Specs. Hell, youse _killed someone yestahday. Frankly, I'd be worryin' if youse wasn' broke up abou' it. Wese both got stuff ta deal wid. Oi'll be yoah crutch, and youse be moine." _'Ise too tired ta deal wid dis.'_  "Stop 'pologizin' an' cry, already. Ise be dere foah ya, Ise promise." Specs looked a bit poleaxed, his eyes widened slightly. Dutchy rolled his eyes, dream pushed aside for now, and slid over in his bed, patting the vacated place with a long-fingered hand. _

Specs, somewhat self-consciously, sat down on the bed. With a 'do-I-have-to-do-everything' look on his face Dutchy slid his arms around Specs' shoulders, and pulled him into a loose hug. Specs didn't immediately burst into tears, as Dutchy had thought he would. He simply shuddered into the embrace, a few slow tears trickling down his cheeks. Dutchy pulled him close and whispered comforts softly into his ear. 

"…Everyt'ings gonna be ok. Ise be heah when youse need me. Always. Ise promise youse dat. I'm heah Specsie. Youse can let go, nobody's gonna hoit youse. Ise promise Ise gonna be heah. Shh…It's gonna be ok…." '_Ise gotta be strong now…foah 'im. 'E needs me.'_

Unexpectedly, Specs wound his arms around Dutchy's waist, pressed his wet, warm face into Dutchy's neck, leaned against his shoulder. 

Drowsing in their combined body heat, Dutchy drifted off again. This time, his sleep was untroubled.

***

            Specs woke earlier than usual, pins and needles pinching his arms, about half an hour before Kloppman would make his rounds. He blushed hotly, realizing he was still twined around Dutchy, who appeared to be sleeping soundly. He carefully untangled himself from the blond and sat on his own bed. He hoped no one had seen them sleeping, he couldn't even imagine the teasing they would receive. It might even be worse then the teasing following that fateful game of strip poker. He sighed; it had been the underwear that really did it. 

His mood improved, he prodded Dutchy with a foot; the other boy yawned, and cracked an eye open. He pulled on his clothes and gestured for Dutchy to do the same. '_As long as Ise up…moight as well get an eahly staht on da moahnin'. An' drag Dutchy wid me.'  Dutchy sighed and rolled his eyes, but swung his feet over the edge of his bed, and searched for his pants._

They walked outside, side by side, neither talking, shoulders brushing casually. The sun was just rising, casting long shadows across the cobblestone streets. The only noises to be heard were the soft cooing of the pigeons and the quiet scuffle of boot soles against stone. The air was still and calm; the sky nearly cloudless and an achingly clear navy. Sitting on the steps, not a word passing between them, Specs and Dutchy watched the sun rise. 

Specs glanced over at Dutchy and his breath caught slightly. The blond's face was tilted up slightly, a wistful half-smile played on his lips; his bangs fell over his eyes and behind his glasses. The rays of the sun shone on his face, spreading light across his cheeks and mouth, glinting in his hair. His long-fingered hand tapped out a rhythm on his thighs, but the rest of him was still and serene. Specs let out a breath softly, his eyes captured. _'Wow… e's jus' goahgeous. Mahvelous.' _Dutchy was completely oblivious, content just to watch the sun rise. _'Ise t'inks Ise moight jus' loike 'im. Da same way Snoddy loikes Skitts…. Took me long enough ta realize it.' _A grin spread across his face, lighting it better then the sun could. _'Y'know. It moight've been a good idea ta realize dis yestahday. Loike when 'e kissed me.'_  Pushing the thought aside, Specs continued grinning, and went back to staring at the sun. 

"Wha'cha grinnin' 'bout, Specsie?" Specs looked over at Dutchy, who was looking at him intently.

"Nothin'…." Specs trailed off.

"Oh, out wid it." Dutchy demanded, scowling slightly, Specs just smiled back.

"Youse sure youse wanna know?" Specs asked, raising his eyebrows.

"Yeh…." 

"Well, okay den." Specs leaned over and pressed his lips to Dutchy's quickly, before withdrawing. As he drew back, Dutchy's eyes widened. 

"Specs…." Dutchy started, his voice serious.

"Yeah?" Specs answered innocently. 

"Do… do youse…?" Duchy stuttered to a halt.

"Loike youse? Yeh. Ise t'ink Ise do." Specs grinned again.

"Youse gotta be teasin'. Youse gotta be shittin' me." Specs looked slightly taken aback. He placed his hands on either side of Dutchy's face, and leaned close, brushing his lips ever-so-softly against Dutchy's again, before pressing slightly harder. 

"Wese don' gotta do nothin' physical…. Y'know wid Arch an all dat…." Specs blushed. 

"Yoah cute, y'know dat?"  

"Well youse goahgeous." Dutchy slung an arm around Specs' shoulders and leaned his head against Specs'. 

"Ise t'ink wese gonna be all right. Wese jus' need time."

"Wese got plenty."

***

End Epilogue One 

End Notes: Ta da! That's all the finishing this plot's gonna get. I think it worked out ok! Okay, so they're not very romantic. Eh. ::shrugs:: Only one chapter left. ::wide grin::  Tell me what you think!


	10. Beginning to Feel again

Notes: Last chapter. And I really don't believe that there's anymore to continue with after this. Plus I like open ended endings. ::smiles:: I hope that all of you who have read this enjoyed it. Tell your friends!  ::laughs:: Also, I will be writing other stuff. Read that too. ::shameless plug::

Wow, this story has been in progress for, what? A little over a year and 6 months. Seriously. ::sighs:: I always get so side tracked and forget to finish stuff! Ah, well.

Thanks: All those who have listened to me bitch and moan about writer's block. Anyone, anywhere who has given me inspiration. Even if I just saw you on a train and was inspired. All of you who have given me feedback deserve thanks as well. Stage: Thanks for the musie. ::pokes Inigo!Bumblits:: (Yup. Just as you spelled it) Thanks to Jessie for everything, and all the swift kicks. Thanks to Molly and Kate for being such nitpicks. ::grins::

Disclaimer: The Newsies aren't mine. That is all.

Foundations

 Chapter Ten: Beginning to Feel again.

Spot sat amid the beams and boards that lined the docks near the Brooklyn Lodging House. The rain had stopped, water puddled in the broken cobblestones and dripped off the wooden docks. 

It was mid-afternoon, and Spot was finished selling. Many of the boys had run off to the vaudeville or to play cards. Spot had declined all offers. 

So Spot sat, his knees pulled up to his chest, his head resting on them, his arms encircling them. His breath sighed in and out, but he was otherwise silent. 

He tried to turn his mind from Jack, from the kiss. It wouldn't work. The butterfly that was his mind had gotten caught in the spider web of Jack's charisma. 

He wanted to give in, to give Jack that chance back, to feel those lips against his again. But how could he? _'Wha' kinda person would I be if I gave up my morals, my way o' life, at da drop of a hat? How come I can' jus' leave 'im behind? Why can' Ise jus' go abou' my business like Ise always do? And how come I can' answer my own damn questions?'_

Spot sat, his mind whirling in circles, though after though after thought flashed through his mind. He wasn't getting anywhere. 

Spot stood, and ran a hand through his hair. He sighed. The bags under his eyes were so big that it looked like he'd been punched in the face. Twice. He was frowning. What had happened to the self-confident leader? He stuffed his hands into his pockets and started to walk.

***

Later, Spot arrived in Manhattan. The sun was beginning to set. Many of the Manhattan newsies were wandering about, but Spot could hear laughter from inside. He made his way over to the Lodging House, inside it, and climbed the stairs to the bedroom. A large game of poker was in progress, and Spot walked over to watch, to see if Jack was playing. Race was making quite a winning, but Bumlets was in a close second.

Jack was indeed playing.

His hair had become un-gelled, and was falling in his face. His lips were pouting with concentration, and his brows were drawn down. Spot stood across the circle, watching him. Finally, Bumlets looked up from the game.

"Heya, Spot! Whatcha doin' here?"

"Oh, Ise jus' lookin' for Jack." 

Race, who was sitting next to Jack, nudged the Manhattan leader in the side. Jack, his concentration broken, looked over at Race, who just gestured towards Spot with his chin. Jack looked up.

Spot kept his gaze on Jack's lips, but he could almost feel jack's curious eyes searching his face for an answer.

"We gotta talk," he said to Jack, softly. Jack nodded and stood, his face even and calm. Spot turned on his heel and walked down the stairs, trusting Jack to follow him. He left the Lodging House, and leaned against the outside wall, waiting for Jack to extricate himself from the game.

Several minutes later, Jack appeared from the doorway and looked at Spot, waiting for him to talk. His face was wary.

Spot stood in silence, gathering his thoughts. The weight of the silence grew. Finally he turned to Jack.

"As much as Ise hate ta admit it, I don' know what ta do now. Somethin' else has ta happen, but I don' know what it is. I can' figure it out." Jack laughed, and Spot looked at him in confusion.

"Well, ain't dis just a role reversal? First I'm de one ta come to you and tell you this ain't over, and now it's you doin' the same! But den you kiss me, and say you'll 'think about it,' after a blunt refusal. Make up your mind already! Ise really don' know what ta think 'bout you, Spot. You're hot, you're cold, you're everything in-between."

"I'm not s'posed ta have ta make dese decisions, Jack. I don' know _how_ ta make dese decisions! How do you do it? How do you know what will work an' what won't, an' what'll hurt you? How do you have faith in people?"

"I don' know, Spot. Instinct, I guess. Are you askin' 'ow I have faith in you? If you are, I mean, fuck, Spot. I've known you fer a really long time, I t'ink I know you well 'nough ta judge your character by now. Can' you trust anyone?" Spot frowned, and then shrugged.

"In some t'ings. Not in dis way. Trusting someone… like dis jus' don' work. It gives dem power over you. I can't let dat happen. Trusting someone like dat, it gives them da power, and I can' 'cept that." Spot looked over at Jack, only to find that the other boy was smiling at him slightly. 

"If dere was one t'ing dat I learned from da strike, it's dat you're always gainin' and losin' power. You can' keep it; it's not somethin' you can touch or grasp or hold. It's always goin' from one person to another. Power isn't important ta me. I don' want yours, I don' need it. But it's up to you." Jack shrugged slightly, but he was unable to keep the mixed hope and anxiety off of his face. 

Spot slid down the wall, sat on the ground, and closed his eyes. 

Here he was again, at this decision. A decision he wasn't ready to make. When he opened his eyes, Jack was crouching in front of him.

"So, what's it gonna be, Spot?"

"I don' know! I don' know how to make dis decision. Power isn' something you can hold onto, but it's all I got. It's my assurance in life. How can you expect me to give it up?"

"I don' expect anythin' of you. Just think on dis, before you decide. Will you regret it? In a few years, will you look back at dis, and wish you hadn' cut it off? Think carefully, Spot."

Spot was taken aback, he'd never thought of it that way. 

Jack leaned over him, placed his hands on the wall on either side of Spot's head, and pressed his closed mouth against Spot's. On impulse, Spot returned the kiss, opening his mouth against Jack's lips, taking the bottom lip between his teeth.

Spot pulled back.

Jack smiled.

And just like that, the corners of Spot's mouth twitched.

***

End Epilogue Two

End notes: Oh how oh how I want to reload these chapters without the stupid accent. I figured I'd lessen it for this chapter, but I can't just get rid of it in the last chapter of a story…. ::le sigh:: That's all folks! I hope you liked the show!


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